


Remains

by hypnoshatesme



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Afterlife Discussion, Alternate Universe - Frankenstein (Mary Shelley), Angst, Body Horror, Character Death, Hypothermia, M/M, Murder, a little bit only but still, kind of this went off the rails a bit, times two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27488755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypnoshatesme/pseuds/hypnoshatesme
Summary: You can run away, but some things you can't escape.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley
Comments: 18
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> BOY I got off work yesterday and the most DELICIOUS conversation was going down in the server, which i gladly joined. It was too good to not be written.
> 
> This isn't necessarily connected to the Frankenstein short I uploaded yesterday, I have other plans for that one, but well, the starting point of this one would probably not be too different so I guess it kind of is?  
> See this as an alternative outcome to the one I have actually planned, maybe.
> 
> ALSO This had two endings because I liked both very much, but they're both sad, just so we're clear.
> 
> Thank you to the fellow Angst Providers for making my brain go brrr.

They had given up on walking. Gerry was unsure if he had ever really believed this would work. It was so cold.

*

“Michael, please. Just...let’s just go away. Where nobody is.” It felt like admitting defeat. 

Gerry had tried, had believed he could help Michael get better by just being there for him, by loving him. It wasn’t working. He grew more bitter and hateful every day. Not towards Gerry, never towards Gerry. Towards the world and humanity. Michael wanted nothing to do with either. He just wanted Gerry. And maybe that was the only thing that would actually help him. To get away from everything he hated.

Michael looked at him with his glazed over eyes. They should be unable to look this hateful by now,  _ he _ should be unable to look like this with how badly he was falling apart. 

“They are  _ everywhere _ , Ger. And they are just as  _ bad _ everywhere.” 

Gerry barely recognised his voice when he used that tone. It was vicious. His Michael had never sounded vicious. The nickname didn’t help. It only made it worse. His voice went soft for it, the way it used to. He was still his Michael.

It was pointless to dispute the last point. They had been over this. They had been over this days ago when Gerry found another body. He knew it had been Michael. He always made a mess. It was difficult to kill when your body barely obeyed you, when it was barely holding up. Gerry kept redoing the stitches, but it never stuck for long. Michael simply was _ wrong _ , but Gerry loved him even if he scared him. It wasn’t the fact that the body didn’t work, wasn’t right. Gerry had been in too much of a rush. Nothing had worked out quite right. It was his fault.

But that wasn’t what scared Gerry. It was Michael’s mental state that did. It was the deep-seated hatred and disgust towards humanity that made him lash out, that drove him to kill. Even before. Even when he was still Gerry’s sweet Michael, his smile now a little strained, his eyes haunted. And then there had been bodies. People Michael had complained about getting too close, about daring to come to take Gerry away from him once more. He wouldn’t let them, he kept mumbling that he wouldn’t let him. Gerry always tried to calm him, distract him. He wanted him to be okay, wanted them both to be okay. He loved him, he loved him so much and Michael was crumbling in front of his eyes. Literally, but also mentally. It was scary. 

Gerry had been scared of him even before his body was a nightmare of rot and mold and kept falling apart at the seams. He never told him, of course.

*

It had started snowing again and they were still sitting down, nothing but snowy planes all around them. Siberia was empty.

“Do you want to...go on?” Michael mumbled, trying to blink the snowflakes settling on his eyelashes away. Or the few lashes that were still there. His eyes were too dry, the eyelids kept getting stuck.

Gerry watched him. He was beautiful, despite it all. He reached out to take Michael’s hand. Bending his slightly stiff fingers wasn’t easy, but he did it.

“No, let’s...let’s take a break. For just a little longer.”

*

Gerry had wanted to stop him. He knew he had to, or the people from the village would catch on to what was going on. He had to because Gerry was losing Michael, his Michael, watching him slip further and further away from himself with every passing day. He had meant to stop him. Just that. 

Michael was angry, furious, and he wasn’t listening, he wasn’t hearing Gerry’s reassurance that things were going to be alright, that not all humans were horrible, that nobody would take Gerry away again. He needed Michael to stop screaming, needed him to  _ listen _ . Michael tried to escape, walk past him, out to get his hands on the teen he had apparently seen snooping around the outside of their house the night before. Michael didn’t sleep anymore. His eyes were sunken in and dark-rimmed and Gerry was afraid for him, of him, and  _ he had only wanted to stop him _ . 

It was too much force, way too much force - Gerry thought he had his new body and the strength it had brought figured out; he was wrong - and Michael’s head his the edge of the table so hard, a crack and a silent scream on his lips that escaped as something closer to a surprised gasp. Then nothing. 

Michael was gone, and Gerry was alone.

*

Michael couldn’t control his shivering anymore. He was so tired. Gerry looked like he might be spacing out.

“Can...can I come closer?” Michael asked. He didn’t dare to go above a whisper. His lips were hard to move.

Gerry blinked against the snowflakes, and he looked at him with a smile. It made Michael feel a little warmer. 

“Of course. Come here.” Gerry carefully pulled him closer, pressed their shoulders together. 

He sighed.

*

Gerry had followed his notes and memories. Michael’s body was mostly whole, though so very thin. He hadn’t been eating. Gerry was afraid it couldn’t take the strain, even after he cut him open and prepared everything. He hadn’t been thinking by that point, not really. 

He had killed him. Michael had gone through all that pain and trauma, had lost himself to bring Gerry back and Gerry had killed him. And Gerry had been alone again, in an empty house, abandoned. 

He wouldn’t let it stay like that. He refused. This was his fault, all of it had been his fault. Dying. Coming back. He should have never come back. Michael could have lived, should have lived as himself rather than the twisted version of him he became after bringing Gerry back. Gerry had fucked up from the start, but he would fix it. Michael deserved to live, should live. He would be living if Gerry hadn’t fucked up from the start. He would be living if he only had known his damn strength. Gerry was simply fixing his own mistakes. He was doing the right thing. Michael deserved to  _ live _ .

*

Michael’s head was resting, a little awkwardly, against Gerry’s. He couldn’t remember if he had wanted to do that, but it felt too heavy to move now. Michael’s eyes were just staring ahead at the endless white.

“There really is...nobody here,” he mumbled. 

His throat hurt. The air hurt. It was too cold. Michael had never really felt warm again since Gerry died. Not even when he came back. But this was a different kind of cold, he thought.

Gerry nodded slowly and squeezed Michael’s hand. It was difficult to tell if it was turning blue since it had been a dark purplish colour for a while now. He had fallen apart so fast. It wasn’t fair. Michael deserved to live.

“Yeah. You can get better here. And then we’ll go back home, okay?” Gerry whispered, cuddling a little closer. It made no difference. Both of their bodies were cold.

Michael smiled a little at the idea of going back to their house. The garden would probably be a mess. How long had it been?

“Okay.”

*

Michael did not come back right. He came back, of course, Gerry knew what he was doing. And he was living - well, somewhat living? - proof that it could work. But it became clear very, very quickly that Michael had come back  _ wrong _ .

His body barely obeyed him, and Gerry couldn’t tell if it was just how thin he had gotten, but his limbs looked longer, somehow. Michael grew frustrated as movement took a lot more out of him than before, a lot more focus and coordination. And when he started falling apart at the seams, stitches rotting into flesh and skin peeling in places where it had already gone black, it only got worse. 

He kept reassuring Gerry he wasn’t in pain, and maybe he really wasn’t, not physical pain, at least. But this new existence seemed to have chipped away at the last bit of stability Michael had possessed. If he had been bitter about those who wronged him by taking Gerry away before, now he was downright vengeful. And a lot stronger than before.

*

“Gerry?”

“Hm?”

There were so many things Michael felt like he should say, so many important things. He had never thanked Gerry enough for loving him, for bringing happiness into Michael’s life. He had never told him how much he really loved him, had never found the right words for it. So much was unsaid and Michael could barely think anymore. This was the end, and all those things would go unsaid.

“I’m glad you came back,” he whispered.

Gerry made a noise not unlike a chuckle. “I’m glad you came back, too.”

It wasn’t a lie. Gerry was happy they were together again. It felt right to be holding Michael’s hand at the end. This was how it should be, he was sure.

*

Gerry refused to give up on him. It was easier to keep him back, in a way, since his body simply did not work as it should. Gerry never stopped apologising for it, he didn’t know what he had done wrong, he didn’t know what he should have done better. It had all happened too fast, maybe he shouldn’t have rushed, but  _ Michael couldn’t be dead _ . Not Michael,  _ his _ Michael that had brought so much joy and laughter into Gerry’s miserable existence, that had listened to him ramble on and on about experiments, that had agreed to move away when the villagers were getting restless because of Gerry’s theories. 

He had done so much for Gerry, and he had lost himself to bring Gerry back and Gerry could not bear the thought of him being dead, he couldn’t. But it hadn’t meant to go like this, either, Michael’s body had been whole and a lot fresher than any Michael had used for Gerry and it wasn’t fair that Michael was the one falling apart. 

Gerry mumbled apologies into his hair as he held him, tightly so he couldn’t escape the grip and find another victim. His hair had been greying since he brought Gerry back, but now it was dying and Gerry didn’t care. He buried his nose in the course strands and apologised and cried and rocked them back and forth and hoped Michael would calm down soon because he didn’t know what to do if he didn’t. 

Gerry was running out of ideas and energy. Michael was miserable and angry and he wanted to hurt the people who hurt him, and the others because they were all the same. Gerry wanted him to stop, to be okay, to be happy. He would get himself hurt, he would get himself  _ killed _ . Gerry didn’t know what to do anymore, but he refused to give up on Michael. It was the least he could do, he wouldn’t leave him alone again.

*

It had been a compromise, to go away from civilization. Gerry thought that maybe he could help Michael here, that without people around to constantly remind him of his burning hatred and anger Gerry could fix him. Love him enough so he could start loving the world again. 

Something like that. Michael used to find joy in all the small things around him. Gerry wanted to help him do so again. 

*

It had started snowing again, thick white flocks falling all around them. Gerry didn’t remember when they had lied down in the snow, but it was cold, so cold. He didn’t think he could feel this cold. He held Michael close and he felt Michael’s arms around him. His eyes were closed.

“Maybe...we’ll meet again…” Michael mumbled. His lips were definitely blue by now.

They wouldn’t. Both had died once, and neither had found himself in an afterlife. It was nothingness, and it would be nothingness again. Gerry still nodded, brought his hand to Michael’s fading, brittle hair. It had been greying quickly after Gerry was back but now it was simply dying, rotting. Like he was.

“We will.”

Gerry wanted to say more, but he didn’t know what. He started singing instead. 

His voice wasn’t quite the same anymore, but it seemed to have the same effect. Michael’s blue lips pulled up into a soft smile when he heard Gerry sing, one snow-covered eyelid cracking open. His eyes had started to yellow a while ago and had lost all shine and maybe it was the cold, but Gerry thought they looked warm again, now, the way they used to before everything. So warm. He returned the smile as he continued singing, though it was a struggle. The position didn’t help, and Gerry was just so cold, moving his lips took effort. Michael pulled him even closer, and Gerry’s nose brushed his cheek. He lowered his voice, assuming Michael could probably hear him from up this close. Better. This took less effort. Gerry knew he had been petting Michael’s hair, his beautiful blond locks, the curls Gerry had lost himself in countless times, but Gerry’s hand was numb and motionless now. He didn’t know when he had closed his eyes.

Gerry’s voice was barely there, but Michael felt the faint movement of his lips against his skin and it brought him comfort to know Gerry was still singing. Michael had always loved his voice, had loved waking up in the morning to humming from the kitchen, to sit with him in the bath as he sang and washed Michael’s hair. He had missed it so much, the singing, the voice. He still missed the voice, he guessed. He barely remembered it. He was just happy Gerry was singing again. He only sang when he was happy. 

Michael noticed, faintly, that Gerry had stopped, his icy lips simply resting, freezing against Michael’s cheek. Michael’s eyes had fallen close again and the frost was making it difficult to open them again. Michael was unsure if he really managed to squeeze Gerry close or if that was just what he wanted to do. Gerry felt so limp.

“Why...did you...stop?” He sounded so far away. Michael worried Gerry might not be able to hear him.

“Gerry?”

Michael was slow on catching on with what the silence meant and by the time he did he was too cold and too tired to have much of an outward reaction to it. But his heart did shatter and there were tears freezing on his face, a sob stuck in his throat. He wanted to bring Gerry closer, to cradle him, to bury his face in his hair that had never looked right again, but Michael couldn’t move. He was so tired and numb and alone. 

And, eventually, he was no more.


	2. Alternative Ending

Michael relaxed at his singing and it nearly made Gerry chuckle, the familiarity of it all. But he didn’t want to stop singing, so he simply smiled against Michael’s cold cheek and continued his song. He didn’t know what he was singing anymore and his voice sounded strange, but Michael seemed calm and that was all that mattered.

Michael’s grip seemed to be loosening, tension leaving his body against Gerry’s. It made Gerry stop his singing. He wanted to pull Michael closer in case it was the cold getting to him but his arms wouldn’t move.

“Michael?” he whispered. He didn’t manage to open his eyes, so he listened for an answer, any sign that Michael had heard him. That enough of him was still there to hear him. 

Michael stayed silent and limp and Gerry wanted to scream. Maybe he would have, if he had still had the energy. But Gerry was tired. He started singing again instead, lips brushing Michael’s cheek. 

Sometimes, before any of this had happened, when both of them had still been human and happiness had come a lot easier, Gerry had sung Michael to sleep when he was feeling particularly anxious. It happened sometimes. Gerry had always continued his song even after Michael was asleep, hoping it would bring him good dreams. So he sang. 

He knew that he was starting to slur the words, but it was so difficult to move his mouth, it was so hard to bite back the sobs. The tears were already freezing on his cheeks and eventually, as the song grew more and more incomprehensible, words flowing together because Gerry  _ couldn’t move _ and couldn’t remember what he was singing, the song did dissolve into sobs as Michael’s body grew colder and colder against Gerry’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls let me know which one's worse.


End file.
